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Last of the Summer: Nat Johnson / David Thomas Broughton / I Concur / The Kabeedies / Smokers Die Younger / Champion Kickboxer
Sheffield, Academy
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Article
written by Matt H
Sep 28, 2008.
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| Nat Johnson |
Nat Johnson’s mini-festival is presciently named, falling on what’s a glorious day at the end of September. But the quality of the line-up means no-one really minds encasing themselves in the sticky-carpeted gloom of the Academy’s back rooms.
The first band I catch are cuddly automatons Champion Kickboxer. They’re still a wonderfully pleasing oddity, as whimsical as they are robotic, harmonising tunes over staccato guitar, electronic noise and even trumpets. They’ve also built in a louder layer of guitar sound which might increase their appeal and find thema wider audience - here’s hoping.
Smokers Die Younger remain a storming live band, whipping up a magnificent indie rock noise. Clearly capable of churning out hook laden guitar pop, they never settle for that, always aiming for the more interesting and downright odd - though managing to stop themselves drifting into dreary noodling. Their set mixes old stompers like I Spy Dry Fear with new material, hinting that jangly single Sketchpads, while none too shabby itself, isn’t the best of what they’ve got in store. Massively entertaining.
As are the Kabeedies. All asymmetric fringes, fresh faced enthusiasm and boundless energy, they’re the revelation of the evening. There’s nothing too complicated about them, delivering a series of endearing 2 and 3 minute tunes that sound like C86 filtered through the US punk pop of the 90’s. But there doesn’t need to be anything more. If I were 18, they’d be my new favourite band. As it is, it’s a sign that, against all that the press may suggest, the youth of today can be rather great.
I Concur are far too po-faced to follow that. Their records have been a little lacking in weight. While there’s no shortage of muscle live, it’s all strained to the service of the sort of stadium rock that should stay firmly locked in the 80s nightclub across town.
David Thomas Broughton is a far quirkier prospect. His stylised vocal (think Antony Hegarty craving a Gregg’s pasty - literally on Weight of My Love) is underpinned by technically impressive use of effects pedals to create the impression of a full band in psychedelic pop mode. You can see several of the night’s musicians looking on in fascination and delight. But once the initial impact wears off it all starts to drag a bit into overwrought musodom and out-and out prog.
The event may mark the end of the season, but for its curatrix, Nat Johnson, it’s clearly something of a beginning. Sporting a fresh-hewn PJ Harvey crop, she’s debuting new full-band material that she clearly has every intention of playing to more than the roomful of converts she’s assembled here. There’s a bit of a fright as opener is the sort of folk pop that raises the dread spectre of KT Tunstall, but most of the rest suggests that her knack for a cleverly accessible but interesting tune remains intact. Her best stuff either sticks to a fairly traditional folk or country template - like recent single Dirty Rotten Soul, or embraces a newfound liking for fuzzed up guitar. The sight of erstwhile Monkey Swallows the Universe cohort Kev Gori bending over a backstage amp drawing out threads of feedback, like a cheerier version of Kevin Shields, is as odd as it is welcome. There’s more fun to be had with the sweary punk stormer that ends the night, leaving the crowd grateful for a great day of music and hopeful that Nat goes on to the success that she’s after, and her music deserves.
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